


somewhere closer to grace

by perpetually_sad_pizza



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Canon, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Recovery, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:31:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8137351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perpetually_sad_pizza/pseuds/perpetually_sad_pizza
Summary: The road to recovery is one of struggle and one which has no end, but Renee has promised herself to trudge on it, alongside the Foxes, alongside Stephanie, alongside the visceral ghost of Natalie Shields. Natalie had fought all her life for her survival, but Renee fights for a chance at atonement and for her future.She can only hope that her efforts will be enough.





	1. tête-à-tête

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank Tchaikovsky and Mikky Ekko for their ceaseless dedication to making music that inspires youth to write gay fanfiction. You are truly the greatest musicians of your respective times.
> 
> The All for the Game series, including its characters, sports, locations, etc. belongs to Nora Sakavic.

Renee knows the shades of her old life hang above her like a warning sign, knows that Andrew and Neil weren’t the only people to be skeptical of her front. Most people who look at Renee, look away because there is only so much to see in a girl with ill-fitted jumpers, a silver cross and hair paler than her skin. Other people who look at Renee, look away because even the least sensible human beings possess a sense of caution, and the sight of Renee often screams _wrong_.

She is Renee Walker on the dotted line, and once upon a time, she was Natalie Shields.

Renee buried Natalie Shields in Detroit, five and a half years ago, but she hadn't burned the body. After all, it is the one thing they have in common – evidence of a lifetime of violence and wrongdoings, an artefact, a _mistake_. Her body is battle-worn, and on it, the conservative clothes and demure demeanor will never fit quite right, no matter how many years she will try to convince herself she has grown into them.

She buried Natalie Shields in Detroit, five and a half years ago, but Natalie was determined to live – crawling inside the messy space of Renee’s mind and making a home in her nightmares. Keeping Natalie would kill her, so Renee lets her out, lets her roam across her elbows and fists, across her scarred shoulder-blades, across her tired knees. She lets Natalie sleep on the pockmarked surface of her skin, and like the unleashing of a beast, lets her come to life in front of Andrew when they spar.

Natalie Shields is the scars, awful and permanent and _real_. She is the knives that are now in Andrew’s possession – a reminder of the darkness that Renee was once capable of, the darkness she has fought tooth and nail to keep at bay. She is a convoluted thing spurred to life by the flawed workings of Renee’s psyche, and Renee has no illusion of expecting other people to understand it. Not even the Foxes. Not even Stephanie. The only person to come close to unraveling the hideous details of her past was Andrew, and even then, she had trusted her judgment to confide in him. She had known he would understand what she had gone through and the person she had become.

With Allison, she isn’t so sure. But Renee is willing to try.

 

The summer of Renee’s third year at Palmetto State University should have been soaked in the afterglow of the Foxes’ victory against the Ravens. What none of them could have predicted was Kevin’s complete and utter mental collapse following the news of Riko’s death. A collective lack of understanding from the upperclassmen, coupled with apathy from the rest of the Foxes, turned the atmosphere at Palmetto sour like cottage cheese left to rot. This, of course, did nothing to help Kevin’s worsening mental stability. Neither did Renee’s attempts at playing mediator, which went ignored for the most part.

Coach Wymack’s solution to the problem was to isolate Kevin from the rest of the team, even during Exy practice. It was a pragmatic approach, given that none of them intended to practice in earnest and that Kevin was hardly in any shape to play Exy. Renee doubted it stopped him, though. If anything, she was willing to bet it only made him practice harder at night, whether because Exy was the only cure Kevin had ever known, or because the exercise exhausted him to the point of numbing his grief. Renee was almost glad when the year finally ended, releasing them all from the asphyxiating tension permeating the air.

She was glad for another reason, as well. Allison was spending summer vacation with her and Stephanie in North Dakota.

Even before they won the spring championships, Allison had been making arrangements for a summer holiday with the Foxes, complete with beach-side condos, 24/7 fun-in-the-sun and nighttime bonfires. The plans fell through due to the team’s mutual agreement that spending another week in close quarters with each other was a recipe for disaster. Allison’s disappointment was palpable, manifested in the form of an uncharacteristically sullen mood and excessive shopping sprees over the following weeks. Renee knew that spite of her catty front, Allison genuinely enjoyed the Foxes’ company. Group holidays with them were more than just an excuse for her to expend her money on luxuries – they were her earnest attempt at connecting with the team outside the plexiglass walls. Renee couldn’t blame Allison for being disappointed when it failed.

When it became clear to Renee that Allison was going to blow her entire bank account on make-up and nail polish, however, an intervention seemed necessary. Left to her own devices, Allison would fall prey to self-indulgence and retreat into isolation at some lavish resort, which – Renee knew for a fact – wouldn’t make the other girl happy. After much deliberation, she decided to forego the formality, ignore the inexplicable nervousness in her stomach, and ask Allison straight-out to come home with her for the summer.

Much to Renee’s surprise, Allison said yes.

 

This was how the two girls found themselves on the front steps of the Walker residence at dusk, waiting for Stephanie Walker to open the door. Renee’s two-story, blue-and-white home was a familiar piece of memory – a wistful lullaby crooning and beckoning her to return. Standing in front of it, Renee felt like being knocked over – whether by the sudden onslaught of nostalgia or the flavorful scent of baked apple pie wafting from inside, she wasn’t sure. It was a vivid emotion that intensified itself when the door opened and Stephanie emerged, eyes crinkling with mirth and warmth. Renee’s heart burst soundlessly inside her chest.

“Welcome home, dear,” said Stephanie as she enveloped Renee in a gentle hug, which Renee returned wholeheartedly. _Home, home, home_. It was a concept, an _ideology_ , one that tugged at her heart and threatened to tear her chest open with a savage yearning and fierce hope. Renee thought the mere sound of the word could ruin her. She would let it. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Renee replied, and breathed in all that was Stephanie. _She smells like apple pie,_ Renee thought with a smile. _She smells like home._

Stephanie and Allison exchanged amiable greetings afterwards, having already met when Stephanie came to the Foxes’ game at Evermore. Renee and Allison were then ushered into the house, while Stephanie insisted on helping Allison haul one of her oversized suitcases inside. Renee had borne witness to the sacred ritual that was Allison Reynolds' packing process, and she could tell the two monstrosities that were Allison's luggage didn't even contain half what the former heiress actually owned. _Life is a fashion show, Walker,_  she had said even though Renee hadn't asked,  _and I'm going to make every last moment worth my damn while._

Renee thought they must have had vastly different approaches to life.

The remainder of the evening elapsed peacefully over dinner and stories about the Foxes. Dan was staying with Matt and his mother; Aaron was on vacation with Katelyn; Nicky had flown to Stuttgart to see Erik; Andrew and Neil had eloped; and Kevin was staying with Coach Wymack because where the court was, Kevin was. Both Renee and Allison took care not to mention the breakdown of their starting striker, not wanting to ruin the idyllic atmosphere.

For a moment, Renee considered telling Stephanie about Jean, but decided to save the talk for a more private setting. Stephanie was the person Renee had turned to when she needed the leverage to rescue Jean from the Nest. Knowing her mother would ask about the boy sooner or later, Renee figured it was better to wait until the topic is brought up than having a premature discussion in Allison’s presence. Jean’s well-being mattered on an almost personal level to Renee, and where personal matters were concerned, she couldn’t bring herself to include Allison in the tête-à-tête, much as she wanted to. It wasn't that she considered Allison any less of a friend, or that Allison was not privy to her secrets. It was simply that Renee had yet to master the art of confession to anyone but Stephanie. It had taken her years of overcoming trust issues and letting down her walls just enough to let Stephanie in. Renee didn't think Allison was ready for that.

Having spoken her part, Renee let Stephanie and Allison steer the conversation towards non-Exy-related topics. While Stephanie was chirping excitedly about where Allison and Renee could go while they were in town, Renee chanced a look at her best friend.

Allison was out of place in the Walker residence the way a jewel was out of place among pebbles and stones – all razor-sharp edges and glittering pulchritude. The flight had done nothing to diminish her carefully cultivated appearance – except slightly disheveling her hair, but this was Allison, meaning even the disheveled hair was more than likely a calculated move on her part. There were few words that could capture Allison as a person, but at that moment, she was _regal_. She carried herself with such confidence people would think she was born with it, which she probably was. None of those was what caught Renee’s attention, however. It was the fact that Allison was smiling.

Genuine smiles were a rare commodity among the broken mess that was the Foxes. They were the kind of smiles only Dan or Matt could manage on a normal basis, the kind of smiles Renee had only seen on the Foxes when they won a particularly grueling game. Kevin’s smile was a superficial thing, a mask put on display to charm the press into thinking he was on top of the world. Nicky’s smile was overtly saccharine, dripping with honeyed sarcasm and false joy. Neil’s smile was a cold truth forced out of him, full of jagged edges and hiding the corners of a broken boy. Aaron didn’t smile unless he was with Katelyn, and Renee didn’t want to think of Andrew’s smile. It had been months ago since she had seen it last – the manic smile of a man medicated – and she still couldn’t stop the chill that ran down her spine at the thought of it.

Allison’s smile was fictitious – the stuff of dreams, an anomaly. Renee hadn’t seen her smile when she was with Seth, hadn’t seen her smile after he died. Her facial repertoire never extended beyond the range of scowls, smirks and sneers, without which people would probably think she was incapable of expression. Renee had noticed how Allison’s eyes soften when she was around Dan and Renee, had seen the trace of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, yet had never seen it fully manifested. Here, now, in the subdued glow of Renee’s dining room, Allison was smiling, no, _laughing_ – all glossy lips and perfect teeth and luminous dimples. The sight was as jarring as it was mesmerizing.

A friendship with Allison Reynolds was nothing Renee had planned for. It was a fanciful and barely-plausible construction, seemingly made out of Renee's wildest dreams. They rarely interacted on court and knew little about each other's history, but Renee gravitated towards Allison like a moth to the light. She chalked it up to the attractiveness of Allison's indulgent lifestyle – the weekly shopping sprees, the spontaneous makeup sessions, the incessant, wildfire gossip: things young Natalie would never have dreamed of having, too busy fighting for a life balanced on a string-thin line. Their friendship was born out of lip gloss, small talk and strip malls – and Renee craved it with the intensity of a dehydrated person craving fresh water. But when the craving died down, all that was left was a small, lingering thought at the back of her mind.

_Why Renee?_

 

After dinner, Renee and Allison settled onto the couch in lounge room for movies. Stephanie joined them for half the duration of _Black Swan_ before leaving to accept a long phone call from a colleague. The other half of the movie was spent in virtual silence between the two girls, with the occasional snide remark inserted by Allison here and there.

When the end credits began to roll, Renee turned to Allison, intending to make small talk. Allison beat her to it.

“Walker. How are your hands?”

Renee blinked in surprise and held up her hands to check. The sight of her healing knuckles made her realize what Allison was referring to. A few weeks ago, Renee had had a sparring session with Andrew and the swollen knuckles were the least serious of the injuries she came out with. Andrew was improving at a remarkable speed – not enough to beat her, of course, but he was quickly approaching the mark. Her knuckles had almost healed completely now. Anyone who didn’t know about the sparring beforehand would not be able to tell that she had been injured.

“A bit sore, but other than that, they’re fine,” replied Renee.

“Does Stephanie know?”

Renee shook her head and said nothing. Stephanie didn’t need to know. She didn’t need to trouble herself with the violence at Renee’s core, a violence Renee couldn’t dispel from her life. Allison seemed to understand that Renee was not going to elaborate, so she added, “I won’t tell her.”

Relief loosened the knot in Renee’s chest. “I’d appreciate that,” she said.

The stare Allison fixed her was inscrutable. “She doesn’t know a whole lot about your uni life, does she?”

Renee shrugged. “She knows enough. Stephanie respects what I do in my own time. She respects what I need to do to recover.”

“Is that what you call trading punches with the monster? Recovery?”

There was an undercurrent of anger beneath Allison’s tone, and Renee didn’t know how to feel about it. She knew Dan strongly disapproved of her sparring with Andrew, but Allison had never seemed to care as long as Renee came back to the dorm in one piece. Allison rarely seemed to care about anything but herself, despite their friendship, and her anger on Renee’s behalf stirred something inside Renee.

“Andrew will never lay a hand on me if I don’t allow it. You know that,” Renee said. “And he’s nowhere near strong enough to seriously hurt me.”

"Enough to give you swollen knuckles and a limp every other week," Allison’s eyebrows scrunched up in a show of mild frustration. “I still don't get why you do it.”

“You’re not meant to, Allison. There’s a reason I don’t try to explain my relationship with Andrew to people.”

“Because we wouldn’t understand," Allison said flatly.

“Because you wouldn’t _want_ to understand,” Renee clarified. It sounded harsh, but Allison disliked matters being sugarcoated. To explain Renee’s connection with Andrew meant to dig up her past, in all its brutal and ugly details. Like Dan and Matt, Allison wasn’t mentally prepared to comprehend it. Her brain would plainly refuse to process the details to spare her the shock. For a moment, Renee contemplated, but ultimately decided not to disclose her deeper, more arcane fears. They were fears that her dear friends would no longer want anything to do with her after learning her full history, or worse, fears that the knowledge would make them tiptoe around her, shattering whatever sense of safety they had painstakingly established in their few years as teammates. Should that happen, Renee would fail in her duty to protect them, and the price of that failure was absolutely not one she could afford.

A simmering silence slithered across the space between their quiet breaths, suddenly severed by Allison's loaded demand.

“If I said I wanted to, would you explain it to me?”

Caught off guard, Renee feigned straightening her posture on the too-small couch, only to meet Allison's startlingly blue eyes. Dan had once likened a demand made by Allison to a well-aimed arrow – straightforward and unforgiving on its mark – but Renee's personal life had never had the misfortune of being at the bulls-eye until now. She forced herself to remember that Allison was merely asking a _question_ , and that a harmless request was no excuse to start putting her walls up again after years spent tearing them down. Regardless, she couldn't help feeling she had inadvertently set foot on uncharted territory, one she had no idea how to navigate.

In her momentary confusion, Renee must have forgotten to hide her discomfort, because Allison hastily added, “It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be _ever_ , really,” she paused, looked away from Renee, then continued, “With all the stuff that happened last year, I realized how little I know about this team. I thought it didn’t _matter_ that I knew so little. But that was when I didn’t give a shit about them.”

 _And now you do,_ Renee thought. She knew that already, but now she began to wonder what made Allison care. Was it Seth, whose death ended up bringing the team one step closer to unity? Was it Neil, whom all the Foxes share mutual feelings of fierce protection towards? Or was it the incident with Aaron, something she knew Allison regretted after learning about the abuse he had suffered at the hands of his mother?

When Allison said nothing else, Renee realized she was waiting for an answer. Renee thought about Allison’s past, about how little she knew of this girl who had been her teammate and friend for two years. She thought about Allison’s smile lighting up the dinner table, golden and radiant like the girl herself. She thought about what must have happened to Allison Reynolds to take that smile away from her.

Perhaps the tête-à-tête was unavoidable, after all.

“If I tell you about my life, will you tell me about yours?”

Allison didn’t try to hide her surprise at Renee’s response, but then again, Allison never tried to hide anything. She smiled – a flickering, candlelit smile – and Renee felt a pang in her chest. She could scale a fortress for that smile – for a mere hint of sunlight beyond perpetual clouds of gray.

“Yes,” Allison replied.

_It doesn’t have to be now. It doesn’t have to be ever._

The unspoken words hung in the air. It was a sentiment Renee understood perfectly. Renee Walker may never be truly comfortable with laying bare the ghosts of her past for anyone to see, but when the time did come for her to do so, she would be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. They're watching _Black Swan_ because _irony_.  
>  2\. I hope you enjoy hearing Renee wax poetry about Allison's smile, because it's going to get a lot worse.


	2. mythos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: implied/referenced suicide attempt.

PART I. MORPHEUS

Renee had always been an early riser. To her, the act of sleeping was more a biological necessity than something she took particular comfort in. It was no surprise, given how accustomed she had been to fitful nights and recurrent bad dreams for the better part of her life. These days, though the nightmares no longer came with the same maddening regularity as they did in the past, a good-night sleep remained an undeniable luxury – one she still found difficult to allow herself to have. In her bad dreams, Renee dreamt of Natalie, of the brutality she had inflicted and that had been inflicted on her in the first eighteen years of her life. In her worst dreams, Renee dreamt of losing Stephanie.

If there was a middle ground between the bad and the worst, those dreams would be about Jean. Jean, whom she had found bruised, battered and on the brink of delirium just months ago at the Nest. Jean, who begged and begged her to take him back to the hellhole that ruined him, because even begging became instinctual when it had been forced out of you one too many times. Jean, who bore scars that weren’t etched onto his skin but carved into his mind – and Renee knew better than anyone that it was the psychological wounds which took the longest to heal, if they healed at all. Riko’s cruelty had cost Jean more than his youth – it had cost him a lifetime.

The following morning, Renee awoke from that middle ground to the sight of a rose-colored dawn. As she watched the feathery rays of sunlight emerge from the horizon beyond her windows, Renee sensed an all-too familiar pang in her chest. She was caught between the hazy reverie of last night’s conversation with Allison and the spine-chilling sound of Jean’s croaks still echoing in her subconscious. The alarm clock on her nightstand read 5:49 a.m. There was only one other person in the house who would be awake at the crack of dawn, so Renee got out of bed to find her.

Mornings were a quiet, holy business in the Walker residence – the light took on an ethereal quality, the silence had a life of its own and the world became a sepia-toned photograph captured in frame. Renee felt like drinking in every last drop of saturated morning air, let it seep under her skin and soak into her veins until she was cleansed of the horrors from last night’s dream. Her footsteps made little to no sound on the carpeted floor – she hadn’t been able to drop the habit gained from years of moving around with the stealth of a ghost – but Renee thought it was preferable to disrupting the quiet anyway. She fancied silence and so did Stephanie. They were both fugitives running from a roaring, tumultuous world and there was no safer haven than the quietude of their shared home.

Renee made her way ceremoniously down the stairs and towards the kitchen, where she found Stephanie poring over a newspaper, with her usual cup of Earl Grey at her side. Against the light filtered through the glass window, Stephanie’s dark, unrestrained curls were a halo circling her kind face; Renee was suddenly struck by the all-encompassing wave of affection she felt for her mother. For eighteen years of her life, Renee had been starved for love. For eighteen years of her life, she had forgotten if she was capable of loving. Stephanie was her salvation, her proof that she _was_ – and Renee loved her like she had loved nothing else.

She really _had_ loved nothing else.

“Did you sleep well, dear?” Stephanie asked when she saw Renee entering the kitchen. She never said _good morning_ , only asked about how Renee had slept the night before, and Renee was fine with that. There was no time to reply, however, because Stephanie took one look at her and said, “Oh dear. Tea or coffee?”

“Coffee, please,” Renee replied, settling onto one of the stools beside the counter. The fatigue she hadn’t felt since she woke up began crawling over her limbs and enticing her with the promise of sleep. Knowing what awaited in the realm of her subconscious, Renee thought sleep was less of a promise and more of a threat. She had no intention of going back to bed any time soon. “It’s Jean Moreau.”

Stephanie paused briefly on her way to the cupboard. “Moreau. He transferred to USC this year, didn’t he?”

“Yes. I’m,” Renee fumbled for the right words, “worried about him.”

Stephanie nodded and retrieved a mug from the cupboard. Renee continued, “Jeremy – the captain of the USC Exy team – called me last week. Jean got hold of a knife.”

The statement made a ghastly fracture in the glass-smooth tranquility of the room, though Stephanie showed no discernible reaction to it. Having lived with Renee and her restless ghosts for nearly six years, Stephanie was no longer a stranger to ghastly things. There was no horror or outrage, only a deep concern on her face. “How is he?”

Renee’s next words were sandpaper scraping against the side of her throat, but she forced them out anyway. “I wish I could say he was alright, but – he wasn’t. Jeremy found him in time and got him hospitalized, but you had to _see_ him, Stephanie. I visited as soon as I heard he had recovered and – it was stupidly optimistic of me. He hadn’t recovered at all. He was _lost_.”

The thing was, Renee knew about being lost. To her, it meant having a knife in her hand, a knife in her gut, blood clogged underneath fingernails and a thousand scars that seemed to heal but really didn’t. To Jean, it meant living, no, _surviving_ with a permanent, gaping wound in his chest that two hundred and sixty-six stitches couldn’t manage to close. To both of them, it meant coexisting with apparitions from a distant past and never having a dreamless sleep again for the rest of their lives.

Renee was lost, but her eyes screamed _Find me_. Jean was lost, and his eyes whispered _Don’t let Kevin know_.

Stephanie shortly returned to Renee’s side with a steaming mug of coffee and an unyielding hand on Renee’s shoulder. She said, “Tell me.”

So Renee did. She downed the scalding liquid like it could burn away her troubles, and told Stephanie everything – from her dozens of phone calls with a panic-stricken Jeremy Knox to the Trojans’ infectious trepidation to the lifeless stare Jean had given her throughout the entirety of her visit. How he had not spoken a single word to her but she had stayed anyway because it didn’t take words to convey the sunken despair in his eyes. How she had realized there was nothing she could do for him but watch him swallow his agony and become an empty-eyed husk of his former self. How all of her nightmares the following week were about losing him to that emptiness for good.

This was what Renee knew: Jean Moreau was not built to be tough. He was human, and humans were fragile creatures who could only be mishandled so much before they reached their point of breaking. This was what she forgot: Jean had already reached his a long time ago.

By the time she finished venting, the half-drunken coffee had gone cold in its lonely mug and Renee was a worn-out slump in Stephanie’s arms. Stephanie gently ran her hands through Renee’s sleep-mussed hair and allowed a peaceful calm to envelop them both.

“I want to help him, Stephanie,” Renee whispered. “I don’t know if I can.”

Stephanie’s voice was tender but sure. “Not by yourself, dear. But you’re not alone and neither is he.”

It wasn’t comfort that Stephanie offered – it was truth, and at that moment, it was all Renee needed. Truth was unbreakable and unsullied – it would hold her up amid a sinking ocean of despair and not let go until she had crawled her way through the murky waters onto the faraway shore. Truth was having the Foxes, having Stephanie and having a home. It was a lot like being _found_.

Renee only hoped Jean’s truth would be enough to hold him up as well.

 

PART II. ICARUS

“So what’s the deal with you and the Raven backliner?”

The question had a weight that made it unsuitable to be tossed around over breakfast cereal, but coming from Allison, it shouldn’t have been a surprise. Allison flung words around like they were hand grenades and she had minimum regards for casualty. Renee was suddenly thankful for the shot of caffeine she had consumed earlier that day – conversing with Allison about personal matters was not dissimilar to walking into a minefield, and Renee wanted her energy reserve to be up to the task.

“Jean isn’t a Raven anymore, Allison.”

The other girl scoffed. “That’s debatable.”

The statement was dubious, but Renee couldn’t deny the truth in it. The Raven hive mind was not an easy thing to grow out of – Kevin was the living proof of that.

“Give him a chance,” Renee said. “He’s doing his best.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, Walker.”

“Why do you want to know, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Curiosity.”

“I hope this isn’t about settling another bet.”

“We could split the proceeds.”

“Ah, so it _is_ a bet.”

“We’ve done this before, Walker. You get money for your charity, I get money for manicures.”

“Materialism is not a good look on you, Allison.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s the best look on me.”

Renee couldn’t argue with that. “Who else is in the pool?”

“Everyone except puppy boy and the monster.”

“Andrew is not a monster, Allison.”

“He tried to kill me. I have nothing nice to say about him.”

Renee couldn’t argue with that, either. “Well then, what do the others think?”

Allison began ticking names off her fingers. “Our resident optimists – not counting you, of course – are rooting for you and Moreau. Same goes for our resident straight guy – that’s Aaron, don’t think for a second Matt is straight. Kevin, though, doesn’t believe it’s feasible for Moreau to date anyone. You’d think more people would believe him since he knows Moreau the longest, but it seems hopeless romanticism trumps logic at this point.”

“Romantics are not necessarily hopeless," Renee interjected.

“Your attempt at derailing the conversation won’t work, Walker.”

Renee had half a mind to voice her thought that the conversation was a train-wreck to begin with, but decided against it. Intrusive though it might be, gossiping with Allison was a welcoming change to the dreary morning she was having. Renee’s mood had drastically improved after she received a phone call from Jeremy assuring her about Jean’s recovery, but it hadn’t cleared away the heaviness in her chest. Incidentally, Allison had walked in on Renee just before she ended the phone call, which was probably what ignited her sudden interest in Jean in the first place.

Seemingly bored with Renee’s unwillingness to cooperate, Allison returned her attention to the bowl of cereal and the phone in her hand – most likely messaging Dan or Nicky. Renee found her gaze unwittingly drawn to her friend once again. This version of Allison Reynolds was somehow softer in the morning light – elegant and fair and almost  _lovely_. She was Eos personified – the dawn wearing off her sharp edges and smoothing her into rosy-fingered sublimity. Renee spent the next few minutes of silence committing every detail of Allison's sun-drenched bedhead to her memory and wondering if Allison would mind having her hair braided by Renee after breakfast.

Allison looked up from her phone and their eyes met. Startled, Renee tore her gaze away and sought something to say to divert Allison's attention from her unsubtle staring. “Allison?”

“Yes?”

“What did you bet on?”

Allison's expression morphed from puzzled to incredulous. “Thought you’re brighter than that, Walker.”

“I’m not the one derailing the conversation now,” said Renee, smiling slightly.

Allison rolled her eyes. “It can’t be that hard to work out.”

“I can’t settle the bet if I don’t know which side you’re on."

“Do I look like a hopeless romantic to you?”

“Does that mean you bet against?”

“It means I have enough common sense to know that just because you text a guy, doesn’t mean you’re dating him,” said Allison. “At least, I hope so, anyway.”

“Why?”

Allison raised her eyebrows like she couldn’t believe Renee had to ask. “I know my taste in guys is utter crap, but surely you have better standards.”

“I'm not hard-won, Allison," said Renee.

“No,” Allison replied, looking away. “You’re unattainable.”

The room grew quiet when Renee’s response died in her throat. Here was Allison Reynolds – a jewel, a blade, an arrow – and here was Renee Walker – scarred, wrong, lost then found. Renee wasn’t unattainable. The Sun was unattainable, and Allison – golden and brilliant Allison – was the coruscating center of Renee’s lonely sky. It took Renee several tries to get the words out, but when she did, they sounded unconvincing even to her ears. “If I am unattainable,” she said slowly. “Then it’s only because no one has ever tried to attain me.”

Allison’s stare was fixed on Renee, measured and unreadable. “Would it work if someone did?”

“I don’t know, Allison,” said Renee. “I wouldn’t know.”

A charged silence overcame the room once more, interrupted only by the sound of Allison’s nails tapping against the surface of the counter. Renee stared at her hands as a pit formed in her stomach. Her mind was a whirlwind of words and images assembled into the shape of Allison’s mouth, of her perfect teeth, of her breathtaking smile. Renee was lost in a blazing ocean of light that threatened to _burn_ – but there was no truth to hold her up this time, only denial. Renee didn’t want to deny this. She didn’t know how to accept it either.

Allison broke the silence at last. “So –  _is_  there anything between you and Moreau?”

Her eyes were expectant, almost hopeful for Renee’s answer. Renee felt that pit in her stomach again, and the realization of what it was unsettled her. It was neither  _lost_  nor  _found._  It was the plunge of one's heart right before a deadly fall.

“No,” Renee replied, but she couldn't hear herself over the thundering beats of her heart.

She was no Icarus. There was no belated revelation that her wax wings couldn't withstand the heat of the marvelous Sun. Renee _knew_ – had always known, felt it deep within her plummeting heart –  that the darkness in her hungered for luminescence. She was drawn to it like pitiful moths to the burning light, like a candle to its flame.

Renee was not unattainable, but she yearned for the unattainable like it was the only thing that could make her feel alive, no matter if she burned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bless your tiny gay heart, Renee.


End file.
